#i mentioned id just finished good omens 2 and really enjoyed it and he sent me a picture of himself watching the 1st ep of the 1st season

[agnes-come-back-challenge]

my love language is indulging each other's hyperfixations

[theolddarkmachine]

Four Years- Sophomore Year

Settling back into the careful composure of his well worn scowl, Keith lifts his glass in Shiro’s direction.

“I’ll stick with Shirogane, then, thanks,” he says brusquely as he raises the glass to his lips in an attempt to hide behind another swig of beer that he forgets isn’t there until he sees the flash of Shiro’s eyes as they meet his gaze through the emptied bottom of his glass.

Heat sparks in his chest, sending a flare racing up his neck and across the rise of his cheeks at the sound of Shiro’s husking laugh as, in a show of dominance, he tossed back the rest of his own drink.

“Looks like we’re ready for something stronger.”

Part 2 of 5

AO3

Warnings: None for now aside from underage drinking and ridiculous flirting, because this is a slowburn and that’s just how it goes. Will earn an E rating eventually. and by eventually i mean in the next chapter :3c

A/N: Originally I wanted to add lyrics at the start of each chapter from songs I felt encapsulated the feel for the chapter. But then I just couldn’t bring myself to add lyrics from Tupthumping and format them like poetry, but I tried to work that in another way instead. Enjoy.

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There were a great many thing things that Keith Kogane had learned by his second year of college. The first, is that being in a fraternity wasn’t actually that bad.

Not that he’d ever admit to Hunk that he was right.

Again.

But it had gotten him out of the hellhole known as dorm living and had even given him and Hunk a usable kitchen that didn’t carry the high risk of tetanus. It had even come with a fridge that was almost always stocked as long as Hunk promised an endless supply of his “Beta Famous Bear Claws.”

Really, everyone won in the end.

The second, is that he was disturbingly good at drinking games. So good, in fact, that he’d earned the title of The Anchor and had been the Beta’s not-so-secret weapon in every drinking competition that they found themselves in.

His only true match, was known as The Champion.

Or rather, Shiro.

Though, how the Alphas decided he should be called that was beyond him when he currently sat with one more win under his belt.

And the only reason Shiro had managed to pull his most recent win from him, was because he’d used his dimple against him.

Keith still maintains that it was an illegal play.

The third, is that fate is a dick.

A dick that had paraded itself into his life in the form of one Professor Slav. A dick that had forced them into a group essay together that totaled half of their overall semester grade.

A dick that had landed him in a slightly sticky booth across from Shiro with two drinks between them and not even the excuse of any games.

We should celebrate, Shiro had said as soon as they’d dropped their fluid mechanics essay off at Slav’s office.

Yeah, that’d be cool, Keith had said, as if the mere mention hadn’t sent his heart crashing into the roof of his mouth along with the acrid taste of bile. It’s an exaggerated reaction, he knows. One that isn’t really warranted given his otherwise calm and cool demeanor towards his classmate and frat rival.

Which brings Keith to the fourth, and final thing he’s learned. It was a revelation that he kept wrapped in all its bits of ominous cashmere, folded and tucked safely between the space of his third and fourth ribs where even he couldn’t touch it.

Because touching it was dangerous.

Acknowledging the softness that lined his insides would be sticking his hand within the garbage disposal of his emotions that would surely cut him to bits and leave him bleeding out on the floor.

Acknowledging it would mean admitting what he had known that exact moment he’d walked into that calculus class his freshman year.

That he’s completely gone for Shiro.

And not in the perfectly acceptable way that could have been rectified by a drunken night and bad decisions. In the a way that left his heart a pale imitation of Atlas holding up the weight of Shiro’s smile.

A smile that is burning a hole through his sternum as he watches the Alpha grab his beer and raise it in salute.

“To surviving Slav,” he says, sliding the words through his grin as he lowers his gaze to Keith’s pint before snapping it back up to his face. Deep within the silver there, he sees the fire of a challenge that stokes the flames within his own chest as he closes his fist around the cool glass and lifts it.

“And to being dumb enough to want to stay in aerospace engineering,” Keith replies before draining half of his beer if only for the excuse of looking away from the blinding glow of Shiro’s look.

“Who’d have thought that we would actually work well together,” Shiro hums thoughtfully as  Keith resurfaces, looking him over as he wipes a lazy line along the condensation thats gathered along his own glass.

“Did we?” He asks dumbly, eyeing what’s left and calculating if he could finish it off in one more go.

The answer? Yes, yes he could.

The real question is, should he?

“I think so,” Shiro says easily, his dimple working its way further into the corner of his mouth as he watches Keith, some secret enjoyment turning his gaze bright. If Keith didn’t know better, he’d think that Shiro knows exactly what he’s thinking.

The very thought paints his cheeks red as he scoffs and rolls his eyes to the ceiling.

“That makes one of us.”

Regret hits him almost immediately as something a lot like hurt turns Shiro’s gaze downcast, pushing an awkward silence along their booth that’s painfully pointed. If he were being honest, they really had worked well together, but that isn’t really the point, is it?

No matter how well they may have worked together, it didn’t change the fact that Shiro is off limits, painted with a big fat X.

Swallowing down his apology, Keith cuts his gaze to the other bar patrons, mentally cataloguing each face that turns their way. He’ll never hear the end of it if any of the Betas catch him sharing drinks with Public Enemy No. 1.

Sighing loudly, Keith slumps further into the booth, turning his attention back to Shiro only to be met by his unwavering stare.

It’s the kind of stare that carries confidence and nonchalance, as if Shiro doesn’t care who saw them there. Though, now that Keith thinks about it, he supposes that only makes sense.

Sal’s was, for all intents and purposes, sacred ground where all rivalries were checked at the door since it was the one bar in town that didn’t look too closely at IDs. As long as no one made things difficult, they could overlook the differences in the laminated photos. 

That very rule made it the kind of place where even the most vehement of enemies would be able to share a drink side-by-side.

Of course, it was also the kind of place where drunken students would input the same song in the jukebox to play for an hour straight. 

At first, it had been funny. Now, it feels like an ill omen.

The song, a drinking tune made popular thanks to the 90s, kicked in once more as it listed off an obscenely long list of drinks. Keith is pretty sure that if anyone drank all of those, they’d be knocked down and definitely wouldn’t be getting back up again.

Granted, staring down the barrel of Shiro’s gunmetal eyes, he thinks he might just give it a try.

“So tell me about yourself,” Shiro’s voice is a burning ember stoked within the crashing roar of the bar patrons around them as he leans forward, gaze filled with intent as he breaks the awkward silence of their booth. It makes Keith’s heart flip a perfect 10 from the judges within his chest as he opts to throw back the last of his beer if only to buy himself a bit more time.

The smooth IPA washed down his minor panic, leaving nothing but feigned confidence in its wake as he emerged from behind the emptied glass.

“I’m not sure what else you want to know, Shirogane,” he says just as smoothly, leveling him with a careful arch of his brow as he settling back into the booth as he raised a finger with each point he made.

“I’m a Beta, I clearly like the pain of this major, and I’m the one that kicks your ass every weekend in beer pong. What more do you want to know?”

Deep lines crinkle the edges of Shiro’s almond eyes as he pulls his forearm up to rest his chin on his open palm. It makes him look younger, almost wistful.

“Shiro,” he answers, tucking his grin behind a careful sip of his beer.

“What?” Keith’s voice is a flatline as loses his train of thought to the slow drag of Shiro’s tongue along the slick liquid that coated his top lip.

“My friends call me Shiro,” the Alpha bites out, turning his smile predatory as his eyes glow with the dumbly breathless nature of Keith’s voice. Friends, was not the right word at all.

Friends, held a connotation that he never wanted a part in.

Friends, was something he wouldn’t have even wanted to be even if they hadn’t landed themselves in rival fraternities that pitted them against each other every weekend.

What Keith wanted, was something a lot stronger. He wants late nights, secret smiles and names gasped into the darkness of night.

What he wants, are early mornings, soft sunlight with softer kisses and his eggs over easy.

That, however, is a secret that he would take with him right to his grave, because Keith was a lot of things, but he wasn’t a traitor. No matter how enticing Shiro’s crescent smile and starlit eyes are.

Settling back into the careful composure of his well worn scowl, Keith lifts his glass in Shiro’s direction.

“I’ll stick with Shirogane, then, thanks,” he says brusquely as he raises the glass to his lips in an attempt to hide behind another swig of beer that he forgets isn’t there until he sees the flash of Shiro’s eyes as they meet his gaze through the emptied bottom of his glass.

Heat sparks in his chest, sending a flare racing up his neck and across the rise of his cheeks at the sound of Shiro’s husking laugh as, in a show of dominance, he tossed back the rest of his own drink.

“Looks like we’re ready for something stronger.”

The words, accompanied with a wink, carry Shiro away as Keith opened his mouth around a silent protest just seconds too late. A dryness fills his throat as he watches his classmate push through the crowd, ignoring the lingering eyes as he passes until he reached the bar.

From here, Keith gets a front row seat to the snug fit of his jeans, and the way his navy henley pulls across his shoulders, the fabric set just this side of too tight in a way that would make him go weak in the knees if he was standing.

Good thing he wasn’t.

Even from behind, Keith can see the confidence that holds Shiro’s head high as he starts to speak with the bartender. He can imagine the easy smile that would work itself high in the full of his lips, drawing his cupid bow taut and deepening that damned dimple. Something dark curled itself low in his gut as he watched the bartender toss back his head with a laugh, the sound of it snatched away by the sound of Chumbawumba calling out for one Danny Boy. Light flashes off his glasses as he returns his gaze to Shiro, his own mouth split wide as he reaches beneath the bar.

Keith shaking his head as he watches, shaking the blackened thoughts from his head as he turns away, biting down on his lip until he tastes the sharp tang of blood. If he didn’t know better, he’d think the tart taste on the back of his tongue was jealousy.

Good thing he did.

A tray of shots materializes in front of him, their contents sloshing over their sides as they’re dropped unceremoniously with a clatter on the table before him, causing him to jump as Shiro pushes himself back into his side of the booth.

“Are you up for a game?” Shiro asks, the silver of his eyes muted with a dark challenge as he licks across a sharpened canine. It’s a feral move that cracks that pesky space between Keith’s ribs wide with the brambles of sticky, sharp desire. It buries itself deep into his bones, forcing the gaps further and further apart until he isn’t sure he’d be able to keep breathing.

Crossing his arms over his chest in an attempt to hold it together, Keith tilts his chin high in defiance.

“I’m always up for kicking your ass, Shirogane,” he growls, pushing the words through his gritted teeth. A storm cloud rumbles across Shiro’s face as a hungry shadow turned it hard in a fleeting moment that makes Keith’s heart race. 

The air thickens between them, catching with the same static that fills the air before a tempest as they hold each others gazes over the tray of sharp smelling alcohol.

It would be something of a perfect moment if only Keith could hear something other than that damned song starting over yet again.

“What’re the rules?” He breathes, shattering the moment as Shiro shakes his head briefly, his gaze returning to their teasing shine as he reaches for the glasses between them.

“Simple,” he says with a shrug as he divvies up the shots until there are an equal amount on either side of the table. Six a piece.

Keith’s stomach turns.  

“I ask a question, if you don’t want to answer, you drink. You ask a question, if I don’t want to answer, I drink.”

It’s said easily, as if it the statement isn’t filled with all the makings of a trap. Shiro was handing Keith the opportunity to make this last as long— or as short— as possible. All he needs to do, is leave all his questions unanswered.

Six shots weren’t that many in the grand scheme of things, after all.

Keith’s certain he’s done more than that before.

Granted, that night had ended in a promise that he’d never drink again.

But hey. He never said he was perfect.

“Easy enough,” he agrees against the better judgement that screamed at him in the form of a strangely Hunk shaped angel on his shoulder. Smiling all teeth, he grabs one of the shot glasses and gathers it between his palms.

He takes a vodka drink, indeed.

“I’m glad we can agree.” A small shiver dances it way down the grooves of his spine as he watched Shiro’s hand fold around his own. “And in a show of good faith, I’ll let you go first.”

Violet catches steel as they eye each other. Lightning gathers along Keith’s skin as he hums lowly in faux thought as he thumbs the lip of his shot glass.

“Why aerospace engineering?” He asks finally, reveling in the way Shiro’s eyes widen at the tameness of the question. It’s a throwaway question meant to test the waters of Shiro’s intent, and Keith is sure he’s found it in the moments of silence that pass before he pulls himself back together to offer a low chuckle as he let’s his head hang with it.

“Would you believe me if I said I just love space?” Shiro asks, open and honest before him, coloring his tone a shimmery shade with a hidden plea to leave it at that. It flushes his system with curiosity as he let’s his eyes openly roam over the Alpha as if he could pull the truth from within his mind before shrugging noncommittally.

“Don’t see why I wouldn’t.” And though he tries to play it off coolly, Keith realizes that he means it. Through the weekly competitions and their short time as essay partners, Shiro had never given him any reason to question his sincerity. It was most of the reason why his heart always seemed to batter itself against the inside of his chest whenever he was near.

Shiro’s fingers rolled the shot glass back and forth within his grasp before he spoke.

“What about you?”

Keith’s reaction is instinctual as his hand twitches around the slick glass. He knows that he should throw it down for the sake of being one shot down and a bit closer to freedom. That would be the smart thing to do.

But there’s a heat pooling in his stomach and licking the inside of his veins and he wants. He wants so badly, that he’s sure he’s going to burn with it.

More importantly, he’s sure he’d enjoy it.

“I want to be free.” The words leave his lips before he can pick them apart. They carry a weight that hangs between them as Shiro nods in understanding that stokes the flames charring his insides.

“There’s something about the idea of making it up there that sounds like the best kind of escape.”

Pausing, he drags his gaze up from the clear liquid in his glass, filling his smile with wickedness  as he winks.

“And I just love space.” It earns him a bright laugh that dances over him as Shiro raises his shot toward him.

“Touché.”

“Why’d you choose the Alphas?” Keith throws out quickly once his laughter has died down, pulling his brow up in question as Shiro swallows down his shot without pause. There’s a sharp click of glass against wood as he drops it on the corner of their table with a hiss.

“Well color me intrigued,” he says with a laugh as Shiro grabs his next victim, shrugging a shoulder as he keeps his eyes down.

“I’d tell you if we were friends but apparently we aren’t.” His smile goes sharp, filled with the same bite as a wolf. It only grows more pointed as his voice dips into nonchalance.

“Which, why don’t you want to be?”

Air seizes in Keith’s throat as panic stings his edges, leaving him buzzing as he tries to swallow it down. Suddenly, the shot warming against his palm feels like bullet as he realizes taking it would only prove he had something to hide.

Though, from the way Shiro’s grin widens, he’s sure he already knows.

“You’re an Alpha,” he tries, ignoring the way his voice sounds strangled even to his own ears. Keith doesn’t even want to imagine what it sounds like to Shiro’s. 

Like the confession he was hoping to avoid, maybe?

The very thought fills his throat with the bitter sting of bile.

Tsking softly, Shiro raises a finger at him and wags it slowly as he falls into mock disapproval, shaking his head in time with each hardened sound.

“That, sounds like a lie, and a lie is two shots,” he says mercilessly as he uses that same shaming finger to push another one of Keith’s shots toward him. It stares up at him, it’s clear stare reveling that of Shiro’s silver as he cuts his glance between the two before he sighs.

At the very least, Shiro is letting it go, and he’ll play by the rules if it meant being able to hide the truth beneath the acrid taste of vodka.

The first shot burns the entire way down.

“Making up rules as we go, are you?” Keith hums, not putting much force behind it as he grabs the second.

It chases the first’s flames with a kamikaze crash.

“Guess you’ll never know.” Shiro’s laugh is kindling to the fire that the vodka has already set, and Keith can feel it snapping and popping as it grows at his core. Mixed with the pleasant buzz of his first beer, there’s a happy kind of tingle that’s making his fingertips feels like lightning clouds as he palms his third shot. It bubbles up within him until he finds himself laughing as well.

He can feel the weight of Shiro’s gaze on him, but he doesn’t care, because in that moment he can pretend that maybe this is something more than two classmates celebrating the end of a partnership neither of them had even asked for.

“Who’s the guy you’re always with?” The next question comes after his laughter has dried up, and it causes him pause as he tilts his head, pulling his brows together in question.

There’s only one person that Shiro could mean, and that’s—

“Hunk?” He asks, though he supposes Shiro wouldn’t actually know. That would make the question moot, though he figures it should be anyway.

Shiro doesn’t have much of a reason to care who his friends are.

“He’s my best friend.”

Silver cuts into him, carving deep grooves into his skin as if he was trying to decide if Keith’s answer is a lie. It tickles his insides and turns his cheeks a light pink as the alcohol makes him warm beneath the stare. Suddenly, Keith wonders if maybe he does have a reason, because something about that look feels exciting.

Feels like maybe Shiro understands the way his fingers are screaming out to touch.

The corner of his mouth twitches up around a smirk as he leans forward on his forearms.

“Why, are you jealous?” He breathes. Shiro holds his gaze as he snatches up his next shot, throwing it back and baring his throat before dropping it in his shot glass graveyard.

A thrill runs through Keith that makes the edges of his vision light as he mirrors his stance and pushes himself forward against the table.

“Do you want me to be?” Shiro returns, barely hiding his smile as Keith opens his throat around another mouthful of vodka. It’s accompanied by the sound of his triumphant laughter mixed with the sweet, dulcet sounds of Tubthumping.

“Why do you want to be my friend so badly?” Keith volleys before the glass hits the wood, not even bothering to drop it by the empties.

The game had gotten interesting, and there was no point in pretense anymore.

Shining steel flicks downward as Shiro considers his words, mulling them over between the teeth he’s running over his bottom lip. And then he’s looking up and painting Keith’s vision a metallic shade as all else falls away. It leaves him feeling light, as if he’s about to float away, and now he remembers why he promised to never do shots again.

“I tried to tell you last year, you’re my type.”

He says it like a summer breeze. As if it were easy. As if it was right. As if it doesn’t set Keith ablaze and fill his lungs with smoke as he shakes his head.

“Lie, take two,” he manages as he tries to smoothly push one of Shiro’s shots toward him. Vodka spills over the side and slicks the table beneath it as he ignores it, instead smearing it along the table top as he pushes the glass further. Everything goes loud around them as Keith finds himself sinking beneath Shiro’s starlight gaze as he searches for something that only he could know.

“My turn,” Shiro’s voice is pitched low as he drops his stare to Keith’s mouth. In a brief moment of clarity, he notices the way it’s gone almost black.

“Kiss me?”

Everything stops and speeds up all at once as Keith finds himself floundering, crushed beneath the question. He should pull away.

He should laugh it off and take his shot.

He should bite back the gasp that has parted his lips.

But this is a game of what he should do, and what he does, and what Keith does, is none of the above.

Instead, he finds himself moving forward, his body propelled by the heat of Absolut and desire until he feels the unyielding pressure of Shiro’s mouth against his. It gathers the glowing heat of a star in his ribcage as they move against each other. Licking into his mouth, Keith steals the moan from Shiro’s tongue as he curls his fingers into the fabric of his shirt to hold him steady.

The new star incinerates his bone and his skin before building him back up and he’s certain he can see new universes glowing against the backs of his eyelids.

It’s too little and all to much as the room starts to burn around him, leaving a single point of clarity in the form of a heated palm against his nape.

That very palm, is the last thing Keith remembers as everything falls away into darkness, leaving nothing but the echo of that god forsaken song in its wake.

You’re never gonna keep me down.

***

Pain slices through Keith’s temple as he’s awakened by the sudden violence of his alarm going off. Eyes flying open as he pushes his way up from his bed, he grabs for the trash just to the side of his bed, managing to get it into his lap before his stomach empties its contents into the bottom of its cheap plastic.

This was it, the big one. The one where he promises to never drink again, and actually means it.

Why was he even taking shots to begin with?

Moments pass as his mind races to catch up with with his pulse that’s racing in his ears before it crashes down around him. Snippets of memory play before his eyes in dark fragments, set to a soundtrack of Chumbawumba.

There had been a strong arm wrapped around his waist that helped him stumble from the bar.

A deep laugh at some bad joke Keith had told.

A steady hand that had pressed into his chest and pushed him into his bed before pulling the covers up to his chin.

There had been the soft brush of lips against his cheek.

Keith’s breath quickens as he presses his fingertips to the crest of his cheek as if to chase the phantom sensation that burns there. Shiro had brought him home.

Shiro had tucked him into bed.

Blanching at the thought, Keith threw his legs over the edge of his bed, ignoring the tug of his blankets as they fall to the floor.

Something bright catches his vision as his eyes are pulled toward a glass on his nightstand. And beside it, two white capsules and a note.

With one hand clutching the trash can to his chest, Keith reaches for the pills, letting his fingers drag over the top of squared letters that sit beneath them. Each blue ink mark is another scar against his ribs as he reads the words.

Take this, and learn how to hold your liquor :)

He’s definitely never drinking again.

Groaning loudly, and wincing at the flare of pain it causes in his temple, Keith tosses the pills into his mouth, ignoring the water as he swallows them down dry to chase after his heart that was still rapidly beating in his throat.

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